When she was gone away from me those months

And did her dalliance with lust enchain,

Her honeyed notes beguiled me as a dunce

Though truth be told, I might have done the same;

Within those lines I marked a tempered love—

By common words, a truth both stressed and strained,

Not tender words that lovers oft think of—

But as if devotion wore another name.

I found it strange, yet gave the best of heart

And answered every missive in love’s ink;

Each billet-doux grew weekly more apart

As truth unto deception seemed to sink.

Confronted so upon her proud return…

We sifted through the ash of letters burned.